From Homemaker to Breadwinner

Myra Ph.D Nourmand

Description

If you can make it in Beverly Hills you can make it anywhere. In From Homemaker to Breadwinner renowned real estate broker Myra Nourmand shares the secrets of her incredible success.

How did this mother of three, with no prior real estate sales experience, conquer one of the toughest markets in the world? With chapters like "Buyers are Liars," "Are You Ready to be a Sales Superstar?" and "Expert Status is the Fast Track to Success," Myra shows you how to strike it big in real estate sales.

From Homemaker to Breadwinner is part memoir and part real estate handbook. Myra's real estate journey from novice to pro will guide and motivate you. Whether you work in Buffalo or Bel Air, Hoboken or Holmby Hills, her words of wisdom are an essential career guide.

Sujets

• Santé et bien-être
• Développement personnel
• développement personnel
• Success
• Self-help
• Personal Growth

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456607012
• Langue: English

Extrait

From Homemaker to Breadwinner
 
How to Make It BIG in Real Estate Sales
 
 
Myra Nourmand
 


From Homemaker to Breadwinner:
How to Make It Big in Real Estate Sales
 
Copyright © 2012 by Myra Nourmand
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher, expect by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
 
Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and the completeness of the information contained in this book, we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any likeness of people, places, or organizations are unintentional.
 
First edition 2008
 
Library of Congress Control Number 2007904425
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0701-2
 
Production coordinated by Lawrence Ineno
Cover design by Howard Nourmand
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
Published by Nourmand & Associates Inc.
421 North Beverly Drive, Suite 200, Beverly Hills, CA 90210.
 


Acknowledgments
F or my parents Yetta and Arnold, whom I watched and from whom I learned, and who instilled the belief in me that in America, anything is possible.
 
To my husband, Saeed, my teacher and mentor. Thank you for your unflagging support, which I can sum up with your words: “You sold me, Myra—you can sell the world.”
 
My three shining diamonds—Nicole, Howard, and Michael—who have given me more happiness than stars in the sky.
 
To my countless family members whose trials and tribulations have taught me to maneuver through life’s complex family situations.
 
Thank you Victoria Peters and Wilma Winer, whose organizational skills and incredible dedication keep me running in the right direction.
 
And special thanks to Lawrence Ineno. Your collaboration and expertise have been invaluable to this project.
 


 
 
 
This book is dedicated to the late Robert K. Nourmand,
my father-in-law, whose charm, laughter, sense of family, and
strong work ethic have been my inspiration.
 
Introduction
From Buffalo to Beverly Hills
Everyone has 24 hours in a day. Not even the President of the United States gets 28 or 30 hours. So delegate and prioritize intelligently.
— Saeed Nourmand
M y husband is passionate about real estate. An engineer turned entrepreneur, Saeed has lived and breathed it since 1976. Once in a while, he’ll spot a house that he thinks I would love to live in. Without even looking at it, I always tell him no. I attribute my aversion to moving to my childhood. From my birth in Germany until Saeed and I settled in Los Angeles, I had moved 11 times. I felt like I had done enough moving for a lifetime, and it also explains why I’ve lived in the same house for the last 26 years.
 
Although I was born in Germany, my time there was brief. At the time, my parents were living there partly by choice but mostly out of necessity. After being liberated from the Nazi concentration camps in their native Poland, they relocated to Germany. It was there that my parents, Henry and Yetta, met. Henry was fifteen years older than his bride-to-be. He was tall, handsome, and debonair. As they dated, he promised Yetta that once they were married, he would take her to the United States where he would provide for her, and together they would realize the American Dream.
 
In 1946, the couple married, and they immediately focused on their mission: Move to the United States. For them, this country was a place where they could leave behind the horrors of Hitler’s Final Solution and begin their new lives.
 
Meanwhile, my mother’s aunt was living in New Jersey. Tanta Minnie, as I called her, was taking care of the paperwork that would allow my mother and her family to immigrate to the United States.
 
When I was 22 months old, Tanta Minnie’s hard work prevailed. She became the legal sponsor of the newlyweds, and they gained entry into this country. Yetta and Henry packed their belongings, which were few, considering that the Nazis had pillaged their possessions. Then, with their infant daughter, they set off for the United States. So begins the story of recovery, renewal, and success despite staggering odds.
 
Six Years in the United States
My parents were strong people. They had survived one of the most horrific events of the 20 th century and lived to talk about it. The experience of being in a concentration camp motivated them to rise above those whose goal was to annihilate them. Once in New Jersey, they immediately found work, which meant that they had to send their baby daughter to day care. At the time, this was something uncommon for Eastern European parents to do.
 
My father’s first job was in a dairy. Meanwhile, my mother worked in a factory sewing dresses. Before her morning commute by bus, she took me to day care. Because she didn’t drive, she pushed a stroller through snow, rain, or heat, and dropped me off at the childcare center. From there, she waited for a bus that would take her to the factory. At the end of the day, after hours of intense work, she would repeat the process: bus ride, day care, and then a walk home.
 
From the beginning, my parents lived frugally because they were intent on purchasing a home. Once they saved enough, they invested in a two-story property. The three of us lived on the first floor while a family rented the room upstairs. Little did I know that my parents’ understanding of the benefits of homeownership would guide my career choice many years later.
 
As a result of his success, my father bought his own dairy business. At home, we had what seemed like an endless supply of eggs, milk, butter, and cheese. By the time I was five, I had already consumed a lifetime’s worth of dairy products, which probably explains why I don’t care for them today.
 
The business grew, and he took on a partner to share the responsibilities. My parents were reaching their goals and became respected members of society. In 1954, all three of us became naturalized citizens. My father then secured a driver’s license and declared his fulfillment of the American Dream by buying a car—a shiny, new black Buick.
 
My father had kept the promise he made to his wife several years ago in Germany. They were established in their new country, and he was a successful entrepreneur. Although the war had stripped him of everything he valued, he maintained an insatiable hope for the future and a commitment to his family.
 
On Thanksgiving Day, 1954, my parents and I were on our way to dinner at the home of my father’s business partner. I recall sitting in the back seat surrounded by other cars—all of us driving to our Thanksgiving Day destinations. Suddenly, our new Buick stopped. In the middle of traffic, my father abruptly grabbed the gearshift and shifted it into Park. Without saying a word, he put his head down.
 
My mother shook his shoulder back and forth. His head, however, remained planted on the headrest. Traffic signals changed from red to green. Horns blared behind us. Surrounding cars moved ahead and swerved around ours. But my father’s unconscious state remained the same. My mother let out a scream—a visceral cry that I’ll never forget.
 
To this day, I don’t know how they found out, but eventually I heard the shrill of a siren. I was only six years old, so I did my best to explain what happened to the paramedics. They carried my father out of the car, and we took a seat in the ambulance.
 
Once we arrived at the hospital, I sat in the waiting room while my mother remained with my father. Eventually, she emerged from the hospital room and sat next to me. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her hands were full. In her fists, she clutched a watch, a wedding band, and a wallet. My father had a fatal coronary heart attack, and these were the three possessions that he carried with him.
 
Grieving was a luxury my mother could not afford. The bills had to be paid, and her daughter had to be raised. For the next two years, she worked as a single mother to support both of us.
 
From that Thanksgiving forward, we stopped celebrating the holiday. Year after year, I remember sitting in class and listening to my teachers talk about Thanksgiving. “It’s a time to give thanks,” they would say. Meanwhile, it was a day about which we never spoke at home and an event that brought about one of the biggest changes of my life.
 
It wasn’t until I married Saeed that Thanksgiving was restored to its celebratory status. We were looking to live in Beverly Hills at the time, and I was pregnant with our second son, Michael. It was a big move—from our simple residence to our estate in the best part of Beverly Hills. We finally found a home that we loved.
 
Unfortunately, competition was fierce, and our chances for an accepted offer were slim. The other buyers were more qualified and had better financial resources than we did. But through Saeed’s determination and negotiation skills, he convinced the owner to sell us the house.
 
Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching, and Saeed explained to the owner the circumstances behind my father’s death. My husband requested to buy the house on Thanksgiving Day. He told the seller that he never wanted his wife to be sad on this day again. The deal was sealed on Thanksgiving; escrow closed two months later, and we moved into our beautiful home on the first day of spring.
 
A Second Start in America
Like my parents and countless other Jews who had survived Nazi Germany, Arnold arrived in the United States with few belongings and a determination to succeed. My mother’s sister, Anne, knew Arnold’s sister. Both sisters felt that my mother and Arnold shared much in common. Two years after my father’s death, Anne acted as a matchmaker and convinced my mother and Arnold to meet. My aunt Anne saw